


Five Times Gladio Carried Ignis...

by AtropaAzraelle (Polyoxyethylene)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bittersweet, M/M, Sweet, feel free to shout at me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 14:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12213009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyoxyethylene/pseuds/AtropaAzraelle
Summary: And the one time Ignis carried Gladio.I saw this on the prompt list for Gladnis week and had an idea, so I started it, and then the final prompts came out, so this is an early Gladnis week fic.





	1. The first time Gladio carried Ignis

The dagger bounced off his shield with a clang that Gladio felt run through his whole arm. If that had landed on flesh, it would have hurt like hell no matter how dull the blade. A second clang followed a moment later, and Gladio dared to drop his cover and look.

Ignis was flush faced, his hair plastered to his forehead, and a growing dark patch of sweat creeping down his front. He gave a flick of one arm, and Gladio had just enough time to pull his shield up again to block the third incoming dagger. That one had aimed for his _head_. Ignis didn’t pull punches, even when he was training; not if he thought his opponent could take it.

He was faster to pull his daggers out than Gladio was to pull his sword out, too. Magic was Iggy’s thing; he took to using the royal power like he’d been born to it himself, and he was fast, and precise, where Gladio was tough and had stamina. They made a damn good team. Together they balanced out each other’s weaknesses, and complemented each other’s strengths. Between the two of them, there wasn’t a thing on Eos that could hurt Noct.

Sparring against a guy whose IQ was the same as the weight on Gladio’s barbell was a thrill, too. He forced Gladio to fight in ways no one else did. Iggy was lethal at close range, and pretty dangerous at a long one; the only safe spot was mid-range, or roughly the stretch of Gladio’s training sword. Ignis knew better than to let him stay there, though, so Gladio had to do things like _this_ , where he called his sword to his hand as he was already moving, and swung it with brutal efficiency down into the spot where Ignis was.

Where Ignis _had been_. All Gladio caught was air, and a good look at the soles of Iggy’s shoes as he flipped over his hands and back, out of the way, one dagger ready to go the moment he was the right way up again. Gladio grit his teeth, fighting the inertia of his huge sword with sheer determination and brute force as he pressed right on forwards and swung again, this time in a wide arc.

Ignis tried to step out of the way. Gladio saw him move, but it was that fraction of a second too late; Gladio was just those few inches too close. Gladio’s sword caught Ignis in the mid-section, and he felt it make contact as he saw Ignis twist and fall. He went down with a pained grunt, and landed in an undignified heap.

Gladio backed off, grinning to himself, and rested the tip of his sword on the ground while he waited for Ignis to get himself back up. Gladio had been caught by the whole offering his hand out to help and getting a knife against his throat for his trouble trick only once, and he wasn’t falling for it again for as long as he lived.

Ignis sat up, and started to clamber to his feet, and then he let out a pained yelp as he put his weight through his right foot in the process of getting up, and immediately sank back down to the floor. Gladio dropped his sword in an instant, letting it clatter to the floor as he went down to Ignis. “Shit, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ignis answered, still short of breath. “It’s my ankle.”

“Let me look,” Gladio said, already crouching down and placing his hands on Iggy’s leg.

“Gladio,” Ignis protested, but it was a weary protest, and he sat on the floor, stretching his leg out in front of himself for Gladio to examine. Gladio unfastened his laces and eased the shoe off as gently as he could manage, but he still noticed the wince from Ignis as he did. “It’s fine,” he said, “the endorphins will hit soon and I won’t feel it.”

Gladio examined the ankle anyway. There wasn’t any swelling yet; it was too fresh for that, but it didn’t seem to hurt much when he poked and prodded at it either. It wasn’t until he flexed Ignis’s foot that Ignis hissed again. “It’s just a sprain,” he said, sounding relieved himself at that news.

“I know,” Ignis answered, looking at him over the top of his glasses.

“You should put it up and ice it,” Gladio advised.

Ignis kept that level look fixed on Gladio as he answered, deliberately, “I _know_.”

“You’re a know-it-all,” Gladio countered, with a grin. He stood and offered his hand out to Ignis, who took it and used Gladio as an immovable object to haul himself up against. His body undulated as he pulled with his arms and pushed up with his good foot, keeping his injured one off the ground.

“Would you believe I know that too?” Ignis asked, flashing Gladio a smile that made Gladio’s skin feel warm in ways that had nothing to do with the work out.

“Now you mention it,” Gladio replied, teasing ever so slightly. It was worth it for the smile and the life that danced in Iggy’s eyes when he did. The guy didn’t have many friends, as far as Gladio could make out; his life pretty much revolved around Noct in ways that not even Gladio’s own did. Gladio had made the effort to get to know him out of necessity, but then he’d discovered that under the primly dressed taskmaster that was always on Noct’s case while simultaneously mothering him, was a funny, caring, smart guy that was as lethal with bad puns as he was a kitchen knife.

He took Iggy’s wrist and pulled it over his shoulder, tucking himself in close against Iggy’s side. Ignis bit his lip, looking down at his feet as Gladio slung an arm around the back of his hips, and steadied him. “I’ll drive you home,” he said, tugging Ignis close enough that his skinny frame was all but tucked under Gladio’s own arm.

Ignis swallowed, and gave a small hop on his good foot, testing Gladio’s hold on him along with his own balance. “Thank you,” he said, softly.


	2. The second time Gladio carried Ignis

Ignis slipped into the training room quietly. Normally arriving early gave him an opportunity to watch Gladio and Noct in action. Although action wasn’t, strictly speaking, an accurate descriptor of what he usually saw. What he usually saw was Noctis sprawled across the floor, and Gladio standing, patient but slightly triumphant, with his broadsword hefted in one hand. He was usually a little sweaty, by now, breathing harder, and his skin aglow with the faint glimmer of his exertions.

Ignis knew he really shouldn’t take such opportunities to ogle the only other friend he had, but he found himself as weak to the temptation of such an enticing view as he was to the alluring scent of a freshly brewed cup of Ebony in the morning. So he arrived early, and kept out of the way so that Gladio wouldn’t have chance to notice the fact that Ignis could never take his eyes off the play of muscle in powerful shoulders.

The last time he’d been present for the end of a session Gladio had pulled his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his brow, and Ignis had been afforded a lengthy gaze at the man’s stunning abdominals. It was an image Ignis had preserved, and tucked neatly into one corner of his mind to be reviewed at his leisure later.

It was with some degree of disappointment that he entered the training room to find Gladio and Noctis mid-debate.

“If you wanna build that muscle mass,” Gladio was saying, poking a finger into Noct’s scrawny chest and making their joint charge wince and step backwards, “you should too.”

“Am I interrupting?” Ignis asked, putting his briefcase down by the doors and announcing his presence.

“No,” Noct answered, folding his arms across his chest and trying, poorly, to hide that he was rubbing where Gladio had poked him. “The big guy’s just telling me I need to lift like he does.”

Ignis considered that statement and gave a murmur of agreement. “Upper body strength training _is_ vital for the weaponry you wield, Noct.”

“That’s what I said,” Gladio said, a smug grin crossing his face that Ignis wished was less attractive. No one should look attractive when they were being smug, and yet, Gladio’s appearance caused the universe to bend in such a way that he was attractive even when he was being insufferable.

“ _You_ said,” Noct retorted, “that you could bench press Specs.”

Ignis’s eyebrows raised and he gave Gladio a considering look. The man at least had the decency to look somewhat abashed by his boast. “I _said_ ,” he defended, “that you won’t be able to swing a broadsword like me until you can bench press Specs.”

Ignis folded his arms and kept his eyes on Gladio. “That sword weighs much less than I do,” he said.

Gladio shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not the weight; it’s the control of the movement. Getting it moving is one thing, but controlling it once it is? That takes more.”

“I knew he couldn’t do it,” Noct declared, smugly.

Gladio rounded back on Noct, mouth open to counter when Ignis said, simply, “He probably could.”

“See.”

Noct took a step back and fixed the pair of them with a challenging look. “Probably isn’t the same as can. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Ignis saw the way Gladio turned to him out of the corner of his vision and answered before he could speak. “No.”

“Come on, Iggy,” Gladio pushed, halfway to pleading but not yet with enough dignity on the line to go all the way.

“I’m not dressed for it,” Ignis pointed out. He was wearing the suit sans jacket outfit that he defaulted to for work.

Noct looked unbearably smug. “I wouldn’t let him drop me, either,” he said, as if he was backing Ignis up.

Ignis looked from the smug triumph on Noct’s face to the silent plea on Gladio’s and felt his resolve crumbling. He could never resist that look on Noct’s face, but something about Gladio’s amber-brown eyes were just the right shade for an effective puppy dog look, and the wordless statement that his pride was on the line was the clincher. Ignis had his loyalties, but when given the choice between a smug Noct or a smug Gladio, he’d take a smug Gladio any day. “Oh, very well,” he sighed.

Gladio all but jumped, his hand pumping into a fist before he moved to drag a bench away from the wall. Ignis shook his head before crouching to unfasten his shoes and slip them off.

“You sure about this?” Noct asked.

Ignis glanced at him and removed his glasses, folding them up neatly. “Anything to wipe that look off your face,” he replied, before thrusting his spectacles at Noct. “Hold these, and don’t get fingerprints on them.”

Gladio lay down on the bench. It wasn’t designed for this, of course, and the bench was thinner than was really ideal, but it would suffice for a demonstration. Ignis stepped up onto the bench, his feet between Gladio’s open thighs, and looked down at Gladio. “Ready?” he asked.

“When you are,” Gladio answered, looking up at Ignis in a way that made Ignis swallow.

“Give me your hands,” he commanded. Gladio raised his hands up, obvious hesitation on his face, and Ignis took them both and laced their fingers together.

“You sure about this?” Gladio asked, his voice an undertone that wasn’t meant for Noct’s ears.

With their hands firmly entwined Ignis carefully moved his feet, placing and balancing his weight on the tops of Gladio’s thighs. “How certain are you that you won’t drop me?” Ignis asked. Bent as he was, all of his weight balanced on Gladio as it was, Ignis felt almost thrillingly vulnerable.

“Completely,” Gladio answered, his eyes locked on Ignis’s.

“There we are then,” Ignis replied. He took one more moment to visually check Gladio’s grip on him, and the placement of his feet before he said, “Just remain as steady as you can.”

Ignis closed his eyes, and pushed with his legs. Gladio’s arms wobbled a little with the movement, but he did a commendable job at steadying himself quickly and taking Ignis’s weight. Ignis brought his feet up, Gladio’s hands tight around his own as he pressed all of his weight there, and used Gladio as his anchor point to pull himself straight. His legs rose over his head, toes pointing for the ceiling, back ever so slightly arched while he found his balance and maintained it. Only then did he let himself open his eyes again. He found himself looking directly into Gladio’s, who himself seemed half stunned at the display, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Got your balance?” he asked, swallowing, but not taking his eyes away from Ignis’s.

“Yes,” Ignis answered. He could feel Gladio’s every breath causing slight movements, every muscle tremor running through the pair of them. It felt strangely intimate to work so thoroughly in tandem. He’d never placed such absolute trust in anyone before, and yet it felt as natural here as breathing.

“I’m gonna go slow, okay?” Gladio said, his eyes still fixed on Ignis’s. For a moment nothing else existed; not Noct, not the bench, not the room around them. There was just Gladio, and every pulse and flutter of his body sending ripples through Ignis’s own. Then Gladio raised him up, inexorably slowly, until their arms were fully extended. Ignis was held there for a second, looking down at Gladio’s brown eyes for a count of one, before he was slowly lowered back down, closer than he had been before, close enough to share breath, where he was held for another second and then lifted slowly back into the air.

Gladio stopped after he’d lifted Ignis into the air five times, and Noct began to applaud. “If the Crownsguard doesn’t work out for you, you can always join a circus,” he said.

“Little shit,” Gladio grumbled.

Ignis flashed Gladio a smirk, and winked at him. “Hold still,” he said.

Gladio did as he was told, and Ignis brought both of his legs over the top of his head, extending one foot down as slowly as he could, curving his back as much as it would go until his toes touched the bench above Gladio’s head. He brought the other foot down to join the first, and felt Gladio push his arms upwards to help him right himself as he released his hands.

Noctis stared. Gladio sat himself up on the bench and turned to look at Ignis, his face slightly flushed.

“When you can do that,” Ignis said, idly tugging his sleeves straight as he addressed Noct, “then you can argue with Gladio about the type of exercise you should undertake, and not before.”

Noct grumbled, and Ignis heard a, “We’re not all overachievers,” muttered under his breath before he turned to go and pick up his things.

He shook his head, and made to step down off the bench when he found Gladio’s hand offered in front of him again. “Didn’t know you were that flexible,” Gladio said. Ignis took his hand and stepped down from the bench to the floor, trying to ignore how warm his own face felt. It was simply the exertion; it had to be.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Ignis replied, flashing Gladio a small, rather shy smile.

“What if I wanna find out?” Gladio asked, his voice low, and head tilted, making the question seem more intimate, more private than the setting allowed.

Ignis felt his throat dry out and his face heat up as he considered his possible replies to that question. He glanced sidelong at Gladio, feeling exposed, almost naked without his glasses, and said, “Then you’d have to take me for a drink first.”


	3. The third time Gladio carried Ignis

He had to be here. He had to be _safe_.

“Ignis!”

Gladio ran through the streets of Altissia. Sea water still rained down where Noct’s fight with Leviathan had thrown it high in the air. Maybe it was sea water, or maybe it was just rain by now. There seemed to be so much of it, and Gladio had lost track of how long it had been falling.

They’d separated. They’d _had_ to. Too many civilians, and too many MTs, and too much chaos. They’d sent Prompto to go and help Noct get to Leviathan, and then….

He’d lost track of Ignis. Now there was nothing but falling water and the dying embers of fires, and a _shitload_ of dead MTs. It had Iggy’s handiwork written all over it, but there was no sign of Iggy.

Gladio’s heart was in his throat. Rubble and flames were everywhere, but there wasn’t a speck of Ignis. No glimpse of his loud purple shirt, no silver flash of gloves, no classy accented voice to be heard. He followed the trail of destroyed MTs until he found the end of it.

There were so many broken down robots. They had holes punched in their faces or their chests, slashes separated limbs and heads, all of it the brutal, efficient work of someone utterly lethal with a pair of daggers. But there were so many of them. How many more could there have been? What else might there have been? The Empire didn’t just use MTs, they had other things too. Giant mechs, and daemons among them.

“Iggy!”

He stopped, looking at the devastation strewn around, the scale of the fight that had gone on here, and saw him. A splash of purple against the grey and brown ruins of the area, spattered in mud, and blood. Unmoving.

“Ignis!”

He moved to run, and heard something broken tinkle under his foot. That simple, subtle noise sent an unpleasant chill down Gladio’s spine, and he stopped, and looked down.

It was a pair of spectacles. One lens was missing, broken into shards under his foot. The other remained in the frames, speckled with blood.

Gladio felt his heart stop, the whole world seeming to come to an utter standstill. Then it all came rushing back, the noise of the falling rain pounding in his ears along with his heart, the chill of the air, the scent of the sea and the fading odour of battle. He ran, long legs carrying him as fast as he could move them.

He skidded to his knees in the mud beside Ignis, the man’s name falling from his lips in a constant litany of repetition, like a prayer, like saying the name over and over again would protect him from whatever had already happened. “Iggy,” he prayed, voice quiet, and trembling like his hands as he gripped Ignis’s shoulder and turned him.

The sight made his stomach clench. The ragged wound where an eye should be, the cut over the other eye, and across his nose, and over his lip left Ignis’s face as ruined as Altissia itself. Gladio hurried his fingers over Ignis’s throat, finding the artery, feeling the pulse and thrum of life through it with relief. He didn’t allow himself to bask in it; Ignis was hurt, and just because he lived now didn’t mean he would continue to do so without help.

He rolled Ignis onto his back, and tucked his arm under Ignis’s knees. His other arm scooped around Ignis’s shoulders, and he lifted him up, holding him against his chest. He was a dead weight, unconscious, and unable to hold position in Gladio’s arms. Gladio had never moved something heavier. He adjusted his hold, making sure Ignis wouldn’t slip, and then slowly rose to his feet, carrying Ignis to safety while the remains of the sea fell down on them both.


	4. The fourth time Gladio carried Ignis

It was hard to take his eyes off Ignis. Ten years in the darkness had kept ten years of age off his skin, and in the warm light of day he looked even more beautiful than he had before they’d left Insomnia.

Especially now. Ignis wore a smile that flashed his teeth, and life sparkled off him as he held court with Cor and Monica, a drink in hand. He’d eschewed the visor for today, and he looked all the better for it, one clouded eye open, the other closed behind unhidden scars. His tailored suit showed off his shape without showing an inch of skin, and it made Gladio’s breath catch. Ignis had always looked good, and ten years of daemon hunting had left him leaner and firmer still. He was so strong under Gladio’s hands, so strong when he flipped Gladio onto his back at night and hummed the words, “My turn,” against his ear.

“You all right there, big guy?”

Gladio turned to Prompto, wrenching his gaze away from Ignis, and his beautiful laughter. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked.

Prompto patted him on the arm, all smiles. He’d kept the little beard he’d grown, but he was still too skinny, too blue-eyed, and too youthful to really pull it off. Or maybe Prompto would just always be that twenty year old kid to him, the one that had tagged along because he was Noct’s friend, the one that had given everything he had for Noct because of friendship, not duty. He’d gone through all the same shit Gladio and Ignis had, but Prompto hadn’t been born to it, hadn’t been raised to it; he’d chosen it, and he’d stuck with his choice through thick and thin. “Well, it wasn’t easy getting here.”

Gladio gave a huff of laughter at that. “That’s an understatement.” Ignis hadn’t _made_ it easy. Gladio loved him, loved the very breath of him, but Ignis was so damned practical. He’d said no the first time Gladio had asked, saying it was too soon, with everything that had gone on. He’d accepted the second time, but had said the actual day would have to wait. They were busy; they both were. They were rebuilding a country, not merely a city. There was infrastructure, housing, amenities, all of which needed rebuilding, and hospitals to set up. Ignis had become the Ambassador to Accordo out of necessity; they just didn’t have enough people to send anyone else to do it, and Gladio, working with the Hunters to transfer their ad hoc security set up into something resembling law enforcement, couldn’t be spared to travel with him. After months at a time apart in the darkness, they’d spent yet more months apart in the aftermath, helping to rebuild the world Noct had saved.

But Ignis was back, and the world was starting to tick along, slowly, not without faltering, but it was progress, and they had finally, finally been able to set a date.

“You know,” Prompto said, his voice conspiratorial as he gave Gladio a nudge with his elbow, “if you slipped away together now, no one would blame you.”

Gladio eyed Prompto, considering that option. The kid was probably right, too. They’d been waiting so long for this, absolutely no one would blame Gladio if he and Ignis slipped away now. Except Iggy, anyway. Iggy probably wanted to enjoy the party they’d worked so hard for.

But he could make it up to Iggy. He had _time_ now to make it up to Iggy. That was the whole point.

Gladio drained his wine in a few mouthfuls and set the empty glass down on a table. “See you tomorrow,” he told Prompto.

Prompto laughed. “Not early, I hope.”

Gladio grinned and amended the statement. “ _Maybe_ see you tomorrow.”

Prompto laughed harder at that, and Gladio left him behind, cutting his way across the room towards Ignis with purpose. Cor stepped aside as he approached and slipped his arm around the back of Ignis’s waist. He didn’t need to announce his presence for Ignis to know it was him; Iggy’s hearing was that sharp he probably heard Gladio’s heart beating in his chest from across the room. “Gladio,” Cor said, the smile looking foreign on his face and there was a warmth to his voice that suggested the Marshal had been drinking, “congratulations.”

Gladio still wore his grin, and it broadened. Ignis settled in against his arm as if he belonged there, his shoulder pressing in against Gladio’s chest as he let Gladio tug him in towards him, ever so slightly. “Thanks,” he said. “About time, right?”

“You did have us wondering,” Monica said.

“The Marshal was just telling me about the time he found you trying to swing your father’s sword,” Ignis said, amusement across his features as he turned his face towards Gladio.

Gladio wanted to lean down and kiss him. He could bend him back, and kiss him like his life depended on it, like there was no one watching. He had half a mind to do it despite the audience. He also wanted to crawl into a hole at those words. “It was bigger than me,” he defended.

“So is the one you use now,” Ignis pointed out, a teasing smirk on his face. Gladio itched to kiss it off.

“Yeah, but I’m bigger now, too,” Gladio countered.

“Don’t we know it,” Cor said. “You’ve always been determined to get what you want, no matter how much work it takes you to get there.”

“Just one of the many things we have in common,” Ignis said, with a smile.

Gladio looked at him, and gave in to temptation, pulling Ignis in close and tight against himself as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Ignis’s cheek. He looked so beautiful, and so alive, Gladio just wanted to hold him forever. “I can think of a few others,” he purred, his voice low, and enticing.

Gladio saw it. That flash of colour in Ignis’s cheeks, the way his teeth grazed over his bottom lip just briefly. “It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?” Ignis protested, though his heart wasn’t in it.

“It’s your wedding night,” Cor said, “don’t mind us.”

He was already retreating, Monica by his side and flashing Gladio a thumbs up as she moved away. “You heard him,” Gladio said, “that was practically an order.”

Ignis sighed, and reached up to stroke an ungloved hand over Gladio’s cheek. “I suppose,” he conceded, after a moment’s indecision. “We have waited more than long enough for today.”

Gladio grinned, all teeth and victory, and then he bent to scoop Ignis up into his arms, sweeping him off his feet bridal style.

“Gladio!” Ignis yelped, half outraged and half off-guard. “Put me down!”

Gladio looked around the room, at the assembly of their friends, all of whom were now looking in their direction. He adjusted his hold on Ignis, who was trying to squirm his way back to his own two feet, hoisting him higher up. Ignis wrapped his arm around Gladio’s neck at the movement, holding on. “You’re spending the rest of the night on your back,” he said.

“Gladio,” Ignis hissed, “you’re making a scene.”

“Then let’s make it one to remember,” Gladio answered, before he tugged Ignis in enough to steal a kiss from him. Cheers and applause rippled around the room, and Ignis’s face began to flush from the attention. Gladio watched him, for a moment, youthful, and embarrassed, and yet with a fond, shy smile on his lips. Then he gave their audience a nod before he carried Ignis out of the reception and to their long overdue appointment with the honeymoon suite.


	5. The fifth time Gladio carried Ignis

“Leave that.” Warm hands wound their way around Ignis’s waist, exerting the smallest amount of force, tugging him gently back, away from the sink. Rough stubble and soft lips pressed against his cheek, Gladio’s breath brushing over his skin as he settled his weight against Ignis.

“If I don’t do it now they’ll be a bugger to clean in the morning,” Ignis replied, scrubbing the sponge over the tongs he’d used to prepare dinner.

Gladio growled, low and intimate down Ignis’s ear. “So leave them to soak,” he said, pressing another kiss to Ignis’s cheek, moving nearer his jaw, “and I’ll do them in the morning.” His lips brushed against the side of Ignis’s throat as he purred against his skin, “Come to bed.”

Ignis sighed, as if he was being put upon, and Gladio worked his mouth just under Ignis’s jaw, making him tilt his head back so that Gladio could properly reach to plant his kisses there. One of the arms around his waist moved, taking hold of his elbow, and turning him slowly in Gladio’s arms, away from the sink. Then Gladio’s mouth descended on his, soft, and sweet, and achingly affectionate.

Ignis kept his hands out of the way, dripping with soap suds as they were, and returned the soft press of Gladio’s lips with his own.

Time had changed them. It had changed them both; their appearance and their habits. Ignis couldn’t see what Gladio looked like now; his hair shorn shorter, long enough still to run his fingers through by a small margin, his beard a little longer than it used to be. Gladio had pondered shaving it off, and Ignis had begged him not to, unable to conjure any image of Gladio without it.

The hard muscle and firm lines Ignis had learned with his fingertips and his mouth had faded and softened over the years, age and good food doing their work to weather them both, like pebbles in the sea. Their edges had been worn down by the tides of time, but Gladio was still solid under his hands, and his kiss was as gentle as it had ever been. Gladio’s pectorals were softer than they used to be, the hard lines of his abdomen faded away, but Ignis could still feel the muscle move under Gladio’s skin. The rippling contours of Gladio’s arms had softened too, still strong, but Gladio was no longer the twenty three year old he had last seen. Nor was he the thirty five year old Ignis had married.

Gladio pulled away from the kiss, and Ignis got the impression he was being studied. He opened his eye to find the world was filled with the shadow of Gladio’s presence, and a large hand, softer now than it had been when Gladio wielded a sword to defend the lives of others, brushed up and over his cheek, settling back under his ear. “I love you,” Gladio said.

“I love you too,” Ignis replied, keeping his face upturned to where he knew Gladio’s was.

The thumb stroked over his cheek again. Over his scarred one, brushing over the etched lines of long ago battles as if Gladio didn’t even see them any more. “You’re still as beautiful as the day I married you.”

“You’re biased,” Ignis replied, quirking an eyebrow and fixing Gladio with an amused purse of his lips. He heard, very faintly, the way that Gladio’s lips separated in a smile at the answer, and he heard the slight way it twisted the words as he spoke.

“You’re still as beautiful as the day I fell in love with you.”

Ignis kept his eyebrow raised, and pushed it a little further at the comment. “You can pinpoint the day?” he asked, skeptically. He couldn’t, himself. He could pinpoint the timeframe that he’d realised he was in love, but the day he’d fallen? The day his heart had carved Gladio’s name across itself, permanently etching the other man’s existence into it? No, that one eluded him.

“The first time we made love,” Gladio answered, stroking Ignis’s cheek again. “Not when we’d fooled around, I mean the first time we actually made love. I woke up next to you in the morning and decided I never wanted to wake up any other way again.”

Ignis felt his insides soften, like melting ice cream, and he closed his eyes and dipped his head. He remembered waking up next to Gladio the first time, back when there was Noct to consider and tend to, their King-to-be little more than a bratty teenager in need of the firm hand of guidance. He remembered waking up next to Gladio the first morning they’d had sex, awkward, slightly uncomfortable sex, filled with kisses and nervous laughter and failed attempts because it was the first time either of them had done _this_. He’d watched Gladio for several minutes, hair mussed on the pillow, eyes closed, long lashes resting against his cheek, and his arm draped across Ignis’s waist as if he couldn’t bear not to be touching him even while he slept.

“I remember,” he whispered.

Gladio’s fingers tucked under his chin and lifted it up, and Ignis tilted his head back as Gladio’s lips brushed against his again. Gladio’s tongue licked out, running over Ignis’s lips, and Ignis parted them, meeting Gladio’s tongue with his own in soft, gentle brushes and presses.

“Happy anniversary,” Gladio murmured against his mouth. “Will you come to bed?”

Ignis let Gladio kiss him a little longer, the press of his lips and tongue, the soft, slow movements of them together lighting fires in his chest. “All right,” he answered, against Gladio’s mouth.

Gladio’s mouth retreated, his warmth leaving Ignis for a moment, and then suddenly there was a pressure at the back of his legs, and his shoulders. The world tipped, and Ignis lost contact with the floor, and yelped. “Gladio!” His husband gave a small jump, Ignis felt, for a second, as if he might be dropped, and then Gladio’s arms around him were solid, his legs dangling in midair. “I haven’t even dried my hands!” he complained, through a laugh.

He was tipped, carefully, slowly, towards the counter. “To your left,” Gladio said.

Ignis reached out, gingerly feeling the counter top, all sense of his position in relation to it, and the items thereon lost. His fingers brushed over cloth, and he picked it up, and dried his hands before discarding it back towards the counter, unheeding of where it might land. Then he looped his arms around Gladio’s neck. “You’re ridiculous, you realise?”

Gladio made a dismissive noise. “Yeah,” he agreed, “but you love me.”

“How fortunate for you.”


	6. The one time Ignis carried Gladio

Gladio rode ahead.

Somehow that fact felt like Ignis’s only tether to the real world right now. The car moved, and he could feel the movement when they stopped at lights, and then started again, but otherwise the ride was smooth, and utterly silent. Ignis clasped his stick in both hands. He’d gone years without needing it, but he still used it in new places sometimes, and this was one occasion where he didn’t want to risk a stumble.

Gladio rode ahead.

Ignis kept his face turned in that direction. He didn’t know if he wished he could see or not. He’d wished it, many times over the years. He’d wished he could see the soft lines forming on Gladio’s face, the years of laughter and tears etching their story into his skin, into the skin of them both. But the Gladio that he remembered, the Gladio that lived in his head, would always be twenty three, full of the vigour of youth, the confidence of duty. He’d never bear those lines, or the changing hairstyles Gladio had worn over the years since.

The car came to a standstill, and a moment later the door opened. Ignis clambered out, a guiding hand that wasn’t Gladio’s settling itself under his gloved one and showing him the way. He stood upright, eyes closed, stick in hand, listening to the dignified bustle going on around.

Footsteps approached, and Ignis turned his head. “Hey.” Ignis recognised Prompto’s voice, and the quiet solemnity of it. “You ready?”

Ignis forced himself to smile. “As I will ever be,” he answered.

A hand fell to the small of Ignis’s back, guiding him gently. Ignis went, allowing Prompto to guide and aid him now as he had done once, long ago, when his blindness was new. He’d felt lost, then. He felt lost, now, and Prompto’s hand was a comfort he remembered all too well.

“Just here.”

Ignis turned his face out into the void where he could hear people, low mutterings he paid little attention to. “Someone take this,” he said, holding his stick out.

Someone did. A female voice that Ignis recognised as Freya, Prompto’s youngest daughter, Ignis and Gladio’s goddaughter, said, “I’ve got it, uncle.” Ignis gave her a nod.

Behind them there was a soft count, a one, two, three, and then a shuffling of feet. “Okay,” Prompto said, taking Ignis’s hand, and guiding him to step back. Prompto led his hand upwards, and Ignis followed the movement until his hand reached something solid. “Just here. You got it?”

“Yes,” Ignis said, softly. He placed his hand underneath the object, stepping in close until it was over his shoulder, almost brushing his cheek. Then he placed his other hand against it, and bowed his head.

“When you’re ready,” someone said.

Ignis gave a nod, and swallowed. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t cry. He’d shed tears enough these last few days, but now it all seemed too real and yet unreal at the same time. He took in a shaky breath, steeling himself.

“Onward,” he said, managing to keep the tremor out of his voice.

He kept a firm hold on the coffin as he and Gladio took the first step on the last journey they would ever make together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame Sauronix for everything.
> 
> As I said in the summary, I started writing this based on one of the prompts submitted for Gladnis week before the final vote was in and the prompts declared. As such, this prompt happens to have made it to the final list, but I'm posting it now.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated. Thank you for reading.
> 
> _Please don't shout at me too much._


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